Poetry

So, as you all know, since I have stated a million times, I don't get poetry. I just don't get it. I don't understand it, can't figure it out, whatever. It goes over my head and into another dimension. Maybe if my fairy had not died when I was two, I would have a better feeling for this thing called poetry. But, as things stand now, poetry is just way beyond what this tiny mind can handle.

Once someone said that this suprised her because I love one of the best poets in the world, Shakespeare. Well, see, at least Shakespeare has meaning. He tells a story, gets to a point, and does it with wonderful tounge tripping words. You know he invented many of the words he used. Many of the words and phrases common today come from him. Who hasn't heard "A rose by any other name." Shakespeare is understandable because he doesn't talk about looking at a flower and all of the sudden understanding the meaning of life by the way the petals are laid out or something weird in that fashion. No, he talks about people, situations, and other such things.

There are other poets I like. Such as Shel Silverstein and Michael Leunig. They have sweet, cute, almost childish, poetry that makes sense to me. That's about my level of poetry. I can't get through much more. In fact, despite my best efforts (because I always feel that sometimes, I can just get used to poetry if I try hard enough and then appreciate it. I have tried this with eating fish. Hasn't worked yet.) I haven't been able to read every poem in my friends Yolo Crow. After I while, I get so fed up that I want to throw the book out the window, except there usually some fiction in there that I like (and besides, how rude of it would be to throw my friends magazine out the window? It's not her fault that my mind is defective in this manner.)

Despite this failing of mine, I was forced to write poetry in an English class of mine. To the best of my recollection, I threw out most of the poems years ago in an effort of saving friends and family the anguish of reading such crap. However, while packing my stuff (I need to move to Sac. town for my new job) I have come across a poem that I wrote years ago. It's not fair of me to hide this from you, it is worth a good laugh from those that comprehend real poetry. Actually, it's so corny,I am not sure it's even funny. So here it is. Enjoy my one, and last, attempt at writing poetry, and I promise never to torture in such a fashion again:

Choose your tale wisely, old one
For thou must teach us all
About the time of long ago
And the sounds of a distant call

Inspire then with your heart
Make them dream of lives gone by
Teach them to wonder
Of all that will soon die

Let their souls roam your dreams
And search the distant skies
Experience the tortured pleasure
Of the mournful sighs (*comment by blogger - what the heck was I thinking??*)

Choose your tales wisely, old one
Make the spirits soar.
For thou are the web winder
and we are the poor.

(serious, I'd be ashamed to put my real name on this. I think I will go into a corner and cry now. ) :-)